


Lubido Mendax

by MalenkayaCherepakha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (not between Draco/Harry), Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy, Curse Breaker Harry Potter, Divorce, Drinking, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, Guilt, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Infidelity, M/M, Minor Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Oral Sex, Post-Hogwarts, Public Sex, Rimming, See end notes for further details about dub-con and infidelity, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26104219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalenkayaCherepakha/pseuds/MalenkayaCherepakha
Summary: When Harry is hit by an old and alarming sex curse while on a job with Malfoy, he’s faced with an agonising decision. But it turns out that curing the curse was easy compared to everything that came next.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 418
Collections: H/D Hurt!Fest 2020





	Lubido Mendax

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gracerene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracerene/gifts).



> Gracerene - thank you for such an inspiring prompt, I hope you like what I did with it. Thank you to my beta for all your help and support.

‘Good, you’re finally here,’ was the first thing Harry heard when he appeared in the front garden of an innocuous looking cottage.

‘Always nice to see you too, Malfoy,’ Harry replied, only slightly sarcastically. 

‘I’m surprised Farrell sent you, I thought he’d sworn never to let us take the same job.’ Malfoy was leaning against the wall next to the open front door, his long legs crossed in front of him, his robes open to reveal a crisp shirt and smart trousers. 

‘Must have been desperate,’ Harry said, walking up the cobbled path to join Malfoy outside the house. Their boss had sworn never to let them work the same job after a big fight early in their careers had resulted in a cursed necklace nearly blowing up a client’s house, but everyone else had been busy today, so he’d been forced to reconsider his policy. ‘Been here long?’

‘About an hour. I’ve had an initial scout of the house—’

‘You were supposed to wait for me to do that,’ Harry burst in.

‘Didn’t realise you cared about rules, Potter,’ Malfoy said, one eyebrow raised as he looked over at Harry. Harry could only nod in acquiescence—Malfoy wasn’t wrong. Harry was notorious around the office for bending the rules when he was out on a job. He only got away with it because he got results, and it had been a close run thing at times. 

‘Anyway,’ Malfoy continued, tone businesslike, ‘as I was saying, I’ve had an initial look around, and there’s more to do than I anticipated, so we need to hurry up. I can’t be late getting home tonight.’

‘Big plans?’ Harry asked, deciding that if they were finally going to have to work together, he might as well be friendly, act as if this was any other job. 

‘Not really,’ Malfoy said, gesturing for Harry to follow him into the cottage. ‘Astoria and I are due to go for drinks with Pansy and Theo.’

‘Oh,’ Harry replied as he trailed behind Malfoy. He and Malfoy might be on better terms now, but he was still wary of Parkinson. ‘Sounds fun,’ he added, scepticism bleeding into his tone despite his best efforts to sound sincere.

They’d come to a halt in the kitchen, and Malfoy turned to face Harry, ignoring his comment. ‘I’ve made a start on the initial detection spells, as you can see.’

As Malfoy spoke, he waved his wand, and a multicoloured web of lights appeared, criss-crossing the room, various pieces of furniture glowing different colours. Harry made a noise of approval and turned around slowly, inspecting the magic, deciphering the clues it left for them. 

‘This is a hell of a lot of dark magic, for a house like this,’ Harry said finally.

‘You should see the back room.’ Malfoy nodded towards a door leading out of the kitchen. ‘It was definitely some kind of potions room or similar, the detection spells were off the charts.’ 

‘Do we know anything about the owner?’

‘Not much.’ Malfoy pulled a notebook out of the pocket of his robes. ‘She died a few weeks ago, of old age as far as the Healers can tell. Only family is a daughter, who inherited this house and burned her hand trying to tidy away some ornaments. St Mungo’s alerted us, once they confirmed it was curse damage, though thankfully minor.’

Harry hummed, his mind running through all the possibilities. A well-meaning witch who’d accidentally ended up with a few dark objects in her possession? It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had to deal with someone who’d bought something at an auction or in a second-hand shop and only realised later just how dark it was. Or was it something more sinister?

‘Any hints that she was involved in—’ Harry broke off, suddenly unsure. This was shaky ground for them.

When Harry didn’t finish his sentence, Malfoy sighed.

‘No, Potter, it doesn’t look like she was involved with the Death Eaters.’ And then he added, with a sharp look over at Harry, ‘You can say it, you know. I’m aware of my own history, and the damage it caused.’

‘Sorry,’ Harry muttered, feeling awkward for the first time since he’d turned up at the house. 

‘Anyway, we can figure out the whys later, let’s focus on the curses. I don’t want to be here forever.’

Harry agreed—it’s not like he wanted to work late tonight, and it certainly wouldn’t go down well with Ginny—and they quickly got to work. Curse-breaking was intense, focused work, and Harry was soon sweating as he tried to concentrate on channelling his magic into breaking the threads of magic that bound the curse to each item. They remained mostly silent as they worked, both of them lost in concentration, only occasionally calling on the other to hold a protection charm or provide an extra wand for particularly complicated bits of magic. It surprised Harry, how quickly he settled into the routine of working with Malfoy, how soon it felt just like working with any other curse-breaker. 

Over the next several hours, they worked through the kitchen, the dining room, and the back room, which Malfoy had been correct in saying contained the most dark magic. It was hard work, and Harry’s wand arm was shaking from the intensity of the magic he had continuously been channelling through it for hours, but it was also immensely satisfying to see the coloured threads of the detection charms gradually shift as they removed piece after piece of dark magic from the house. 

Malfoy seemed to be feeling the same satisfaction too, as the cold blankness that had clouded his features when they first began working had vanished, replaced by flushed cheeks and a small but definitely present smile. He’d discarded his outer robes an hour or so into their work, and had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. When Harry glanced over at one point to see Malfoy running a hand through his hair, leaving it rumpled and dishevelled, he had to look away quickly, his stomach turning over at the sight. Harry might be married, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still appreciate an attractive man.

With the downstairs clear of curses, they moved upstairs, where thankfully there was a lot less work to do. The sky outside was beginning to darken, the early winter night starting to set in, the chilly winter air seeping in through the single-glazed windows enough to make Malfoy put his robes back on, to Harry’s slight dismay. Malfoy was clearly keen to get things finished off as soon as possible as he was working significantly faster than he had been earlier in the day. They’d worked through lunch, and Harry’s rumbling stomach pushed him to work quickly too, looking forward to getting home for dinner.

He realised his mistake two seconds too late to do anything about it. 

Speed was always the downfall of curse-breakers—it was delicate, slow work, and cutting corners nearly always spelled disaster—but that hadn’t stopped Harry from rushing, skipping the final diagnostic charm on a jewellery box, sure that he already knew what curse it contained. 

As soon as his spell hit the box, he knew he’d messed up, and didn’t have time to do anything but brace for whatever was coming, not even to shout a warning to Malfoy. 

A bright flash lit up the room as his spell connected with the box, an ear-splitting screech emanating from inside it. Harry reeled backwards from the force of the shockwave that ripped across the room, his hands reaching up in an ineffectual attempt to shield his ears from the piercing noise still reverberating around the bedroom. Malfoy fell to his knees, the lack of advanced warning meaning he was hit harder than Harry, his face contorted with pain. 

Harry cast spell after spell at the jewellery box, wand arm shaking, his other hand still clamped tightly over one ear, in a desperate attempt to make the sound stop. Nothing was working, and panic was beginning to rise in his throat as he cast the final spell he could think of. But then Harry was shoved out the way, Malfoy pushing in front of him, pain still written across his face even as he raised a trembling hand and cast.

The lid of the jewellery box snapped shut, the scream cutting off abruptly. Harry’s ears continued to ring, the echo of the scream lingering in the silence, but the agonising pain receded, and Harry slid to the ground in relief. 

‘What the fuck was that?’ Harry gasped out when he finally felt able to speak.

‘I was going to ask you that,’ Malfoy said, his words muffled. He was standing next to Harry, bent double, his hands on his knees, his back moving rapidly with his breath. ‘What did you do?’

‘I thought I knew what the curse was, so tried to remove it. I didn’t think it would have that reaction.’

‘Clearly,’ Malfoy said, straightening up, his tone making it clear that he was more than a little displeased with Harry. ‘That was excruciating.’

‘Yeah,’ Harry agreed, before adding, ‘I feel all right now though, like nothing happened.’

‘Me too,’ Malfoy said, voice unsure. ‘Strange, really. You’d think after that we’d feel worse.’

Harry had been so relieved to be out of pain that he hadn’t really considered that it was perhaps worse that he felt alright. A curse that left you writhing in pain was one that could be identified and dealt with, even if it wasn’t the most pleasant experience. A curse that left no obvious effects was more concerning. Who knew what was happening inside their bodies, their brains, their magical cores now. 

‘Probably should go to St Mungo’s,’ Harry sighed. He hated going to the hospital. Hated being fussed over by an endless parade of Healers and mediwitches who all wanted to be able to say they’d helped save Harry Potter’s life. And he really didn’t fancy word getting out that he and Malfoy had ended up injured on their first case together. No one would believe that they’d been working well together when they found that out; his boss would definitely go back to not letting them work together, and Harry had actually quite enjoyed his day working with Malfoy. It was still weird, no denying that, but Malfoy was undeniably good at his job, and Harry appreciated working with someone as efficient and effective as him. 

‘Probably,’ Malfoy agreed, his frown making it clear that he was as unhappy with this turn of events as Harry was. ‘I’ll need to send a Patronus to Astoria so she knows to go on to Pansy’s without me.’

As Malfoy walked away to cast his Patronus, Harry stood up gingerly, relieved to find his legs weren’t too shaky, and began to cast Stasis charms over the rest of the objects in the room. They’d have to come back another day to finish off, and deal with that jewellery box too. Everything was fine, until Malfoy stepped through the bedroom door onto the landing. 

The moment Malfoy’s foot crossed the threshold, Harry’s body exploded in pain. He dropped to the ground, hands clutching at his head as it felt like it would split in two from the pain. For a moment he thought the jewellery box had opened again, as screams echoed around the room, amplifying the agony in his head, but then he realised that the screams were his, ripped from his throat by the force of the pain. 

All of a sudden, the pain receded, reducing to a burn under his skin rather than outright agony. Harry looked up, confused, and found himself looking directly into Malfoy’s grey eyes. Malfoy’s hand was on Harry’s arm, and the touch felt like a balm, the place where their skin met the only part of his body that didn’t hurt. 

‘Potter? Are you alright?’ Malfoy looked concerned, his face tight with worry, his voice strained.

‘I—I don’t know,’ Harry said, the lingering pain leaving him confused, Malfoy’s proximity only making things worse. He couldn’t look away from him. ‘What happened?’

‘I’m not sure. I went out to send my Patronus, and then you—you screamed, and then I saw you on the floor.’ Harry realised with a jolt that Malfoy looked terrified, his eyes wide with shock and fear. ‘None of the usual spells did anything, and Merlin, you wouldn’t stop screaming. I was going to Apparate us to St Mungo’s, but as soon as I touched you, you stopped screaming.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Harry said, mind racing as he tried to figure out what had happened, flickers of pain licking at his nerves like a flame, everywhere apart from where Malfoy was touching him. 

‘I think whatever curse was on that jewellery box did more to us than we first thought,’ Malfoy said, his voice grim, his face set. ‘I want to examine it, will you be all right for a moment?’

Harry nodded, but as soon as Malfoy removed his hand, the pain crested again, and with a garbled yell, Harry lunged, grabbing on to the first part of Malfoy he could reach. Once again, as his hands gripped the fabric of Malfoy’s trousers, the pain became manageable, still present but not unbearable like it had been when Malfoy had let go of him. 

If such a thing was even possible, Malfoy’s expression had grown even grimmer as he looked down at Harry. 

‘Right,’ he said, at first as though just to himself, then repeating it again, more firmly this time. ‘Right, I think I know what this is. I still want to have a look, but come here, stay close.’

Malfoy held out a hand, hauling Harry up to standing, but then to Harry’s great relief, he didn’t let go, instead shifting so that they were holding hands. It should have felt strange—Harry hadn’t held hands with anyone but Ginny in over a decade—but it didn’t. He told himself it was just because the pain, and the relief of it fading slightly, was distorting his brain. 

Harry stood and watched while Malfoy cast a series of spells at the jewellery box, content to let Malfoy work without getting involved, the pain still too fresh in his mind to make him want to get any nearer to the jewellery box than he had to. 

‘Right,’ Malfoy said eventually, lowering his wand hand and turning to face Harry, all the while maintaining their contact. The look on his face made Harry’s stomach constrict with nerves. That expression could only mean bad news.

‘What is it?’

‘ _Lubido Mendax_ ,’ Malfoy said, and when Harry simply looked back at him, confused, he continued. ‘It roughly translates as “counterfeit desire”.’

‘That doesn’t sound good…’ Harry said, to which Malfoy shook his head. 

‘It isn’t. It’s old pure-blood magic, not something I’ve come across before, except in one book.’ At that Malfoy paused, his eyes worried, his mouth moving slightly as he seemed to struggle to find the words he was looking for. 

‘What’s it going to do to me?’ Harry whispered, fear rising up in his stomach. 

Malfoy took a deep breath, then said the words that made Harry’s heart sink to the ground. ‘If we don’t do anything, it’ll kill you.’

‘Fuck.’

‘Yeah,’ Malfoy agreed, and Harry could see his hand visibly shaking as he ran it through his hair. Seeing Malfoy so clearly concerned made Harry’s fear worse.

‘And if we do something?’ Harry prompted.

‘If we do something, you’ll survive, but…’ Malfoy tailed off. 

‘But?’

‘We have to have sex,’ Malfoy said quickly, as though saying it as fast as possible would make it easier. 

‘What?’

‘It’s an old curse, a combination of bonding spell and sex magic, designed to keep couples together and make sure they consummated their marriage,’ Malfoy sighed, his eyes no longer meeting Harry’s. ‘You’ll be in pain until we…’

‘Until we have sex,’ Harry finished flatly. 

‘Yes. And if we don’t, the pain will get worse and worse, and eventually kill you.’

‘Fuck.’

‘Indeed.’

They both fell silent then, Harry’s brain racing as he tried to find a loophole, any way to avoid this. It’s not like he _hated_ the idea of having sex with Malfoy—it was certainly better than dying, and if he was honest, there’d been one or two dreams over the years that had featured blond hair that couldn’t have belonged to anyone else—but like this? When Ginny would be waiting at home for him to get in? When Malfoy was due to meet his wife any minute? 

It’s the sort of decision that would have been easy, had Harry only had to think about himself. He could have taken the chance to live out a fantasy with the added benefit of curing himself of the curse, without a second thought for what it meant, or what it would do to anyone else. But he wasn’t alone, not anymore, and he had Ginny to think about. He couldn’t be responsible for any more loss in her life, and he hated the thought of dying and leaving her without him, but he’d also made a vow to be faithful to her, and he’d fully intended to stick to that vow. 

‘There’s really nothing else we can do?’ Harry asked in a last gasp attempt at reprieve. 

Malfoy just shook his head, his expression unreadable. 

‘Shit.’ Harry thought quickly, making up his mind, hoping he wouldn’t come to regret his decision. All Harry could think was that if the situation was reversed, he’d want Ginny to do anything that kept her alive, however it made him feel. ‘Well, I’m up for it if you are.’

‘Really?’ Malfoy’s head snapped up at that, his eyes finally meeting Harry’s again. 

‘I don’t really fancy dying,’ Harry said, with a weak smile.

‘Yeah, ok, right.’ Harry had never seen Malfoy so off his game before. Malfoy was usually so in control, cool and collected, but now he seemed flustered, lost for words. ‘All right, how do you want to do this?’

‘Uh,’ Harry hesitated. What was Malfoy asking? Harry had known he was bisexual for a long time, but he’d never actually had sex with another man before, and he had no idea how to answer Malfoy’s question. ‘I dunno,’ he settled on eventually. 

‘Ok,’ Malfoy scrubbed a hand over his face. ‘Shall we just—let’s just try this, first?’

Harry’s stomach flipped over as Malfoy moved closer, so close that Harry could see every pale eyelash, and the flecks of blue in his eyes. Malfoy was slightly taller than Harry, and it was as he slowly bent down that Harry was hit with the realisation of what they were about to do. His gaze flicked down from Malfoy’s eyes to his mouth, and then Malfoy’s lips were on his.

It wasn’t anything like Harry had expected. Even in his occasional fantasies about men, about Malfoy, he hadn’t thought it would feel like this. Malfoy’s lips were soft, whispering against his like silk, tentative at first, but then a wave of heat ran through Harry, and nothing was tentative anymore. Desire rushed through him, and he was kissing Malfoy back, gasping into his mouth as their tongues met. Harry hadn’t kissed like this in years. 

Pain was long forgotten as their mouths moved together, Malfoy’s spare hand tangling in Harry’s hair, Harry’s arm snaking around his waist to pull him in closer. The hard planes of Malfoy’s body felt so different to Ginny’s curves, his height such a contrast to Ginny’s petite frame, and the novelty only added to the need burning through Harry. A voice in the back of his mind whispered that he was asking for trouble, that this couldn’t end well, but he ignored it, intoxicated by Malfoy’s mouth against his and the friction of his trouser-clad erection against Harry’s. 

With a gasp, Harry forced himself to stop kissing Malfoy, their foreheads coming to rest against each other’s as they fought to catch their breath. Need was wound up in Harry, overtaking all rational parts of his brain that might tell him to stop, and Merlin, he wanted this, consequences be damned, but he had to know that Malfoy did too.

‘Is this—’ Harry gasped in between breaths, ‘Is this ok?’

‘Merlin, yes,’ Malfoy said, his voice ragged. ‘You have no idea, Potter, no idea how—’ Malfoy cut himself off abruptly, hauling Harry back into a devastating kiss. 

Harry was achingly hard already, and he ground his hips against Malfoy’s, his stomach twisting with excitement when Malfoy rocked back against him. The friction and the knowledge that Malfoy was as into this as Harry felt incredible, but Harry wanted more. Pulling back to give Malfoy the chance to stop him, Harry pushed Malfoy’s robes off his shoulder, the dark blue fabric puddling at their feet, before moving a shaking hand to the top button of his shirt.

‘Can I?’ Harry asked, voice low. 

At Malfoy’s nod he undid the button, fingers fumbling slightly as he made his way down the shirt, revealing skin and taut muscles. Harry’s hands lingered briefly over the thin white lines that criss-crossed Malfoy’s chest, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Malfoy captured his mouth in a kiss before he could. 

As they kissed, Harry slid his hands into Malfoy’s open shirt, one hand exploring the planes of his chest as the other splayed across his back. Malfoy’s skin was soft and hot and Harry wanted nothing more than to spend hours exploring every inch of it, but need was burning hot in his veins, and he didn’t think he could wait that long. For a moment he caught himself thinking that next time he could take his time, before his scrambled brain caught up and reminded him that this wasn’t going to happen again, that they were only doing this because they had to, just this once. 

The movement of Malfoy’s hands as they pushed Harry’s t-shirt up his chest pulled Harry’s thoughts away from the temporary nature of their entanglement, and Harry let Malfoy pull his t-shirt off, groaning loudly when Malfoy’s hands moved to his waistband.

‘Do it,’ Harry whispered, bucking his hips forward, making Malfoy’s hand brush his cock through his jeans. 

Malfoy hurriedly unzipped Harry’s flies, shoving his jeans and boxers down in one fluid motion, his cock springing free, the cool air a balm against Harry’s hot skin. So quickly that Harry could barely process what was happening, Malfoy dropped to his knees, wrapping one long-fingered hand around Harry’s cock as he did so. Harry couldn’t hold back a moan when Malfoy leaned in and licked a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, and he slid a hand into Malfoy’s hair, holding on tightly as the world spun around him, his eyes sliding shut. 

It was good, so good that Harry couldn’t help thinking that maybe this wasn’t the first time Malfoy had done this, and even that thought could only turn him on more, the image of Malfoy on his knees for other men, practicing the skills that he was using to such devastating effect on Harry somehow only making him more aroused. The sound of Malfoy undoing his own zip made Harry open his eyes, the sight of Malfoy pulling out his own cock and starting to stroke it in time with the movement of his mouth on Harry almost enough to make Harry come there and then, pulling yet another groan from his lips. 

At the noise, Malfoy looked up, his eyes locking on Harry’s, and for a moment Harry let himself look, let himself take in all the details of Malfoy with his lips wrapped around Harry’s hard cock, before a wave of guilt overtook him and he had to screw his eyes shut. He shouldn’t be looking, shouldn’t be enjoying seeing Malfoy on his knees, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide as he licked teasingly at Harry’s cock. He should be enduring this because he has to, to stay alive. He should be trying to block out Malfoy with thoughts of Ginny, he should be wishing the blond hair clenched in his fist was red. The sight of Malfoy doing this to him shouldn’t already be seared on his brain. 

Harry’s guilt wasn’t enough to stop him hurtling towards his orgasm far quicker than he expected. Malfoy’s tongue was doing sinful things to his cock, and Harry couldn’t resist looking down to watch Malfoy stroke himself off, the tip of his prick poking through his fist with every stroke. He was nearly at the point of no return when he suddenly remembered why they were doing this.

‘Stop, Malfoy,’ Harry gasped, pulling back as Malfoy looked up at him, confused, his lips swollen, the hand on his prick stilling. ‘Was going to come,’ Harry added in explanation.

‘Surely that’s a good thing?’ Malfoy said, in a tone Harry had never heard him use before. 

‘What if it’s not enough? Is a blowjob enough to lift the curse?’

‘How should I know? Do I look like I know a lot about sex curses?’ Malfoy said in a much more familiar sarcastic tone, one eyebrow raised.

‘You knew what it was,’ Harry couldn’t resist shooting back, even as he thought to himself that right now, on his knees with swollen lips, Malfoy looked like he certainly knew a lot about sex at least.

Malfoy shot Harry a look at that, one so familiar and yet brand new in this context, and Harry felt his cock twitch. Despite his fervent hopes, the small smile on Malfoy’s face suggested he hadn’t missed Harry’s reaction.

‘I have no idea, Potter,’ Malfoy said finally. ‘Maybe it’ll be enough. The only way to know for sure is to test it.’

‘Ok…’ Harry replied, struggling to think as Malfoy wrapped a hand back around the base of his cock. ‘So I just...come? And if it doesn’t work?’

‘Yes, Potter, you _just come_.’ Malfoy looked like he was trying and failing to stop himself laughing. ‘And if it doesn’t work? Well, then we try something else.’

Harry’s mind raced at the implications behind _something else_ , but before he could think too much about the possibilities, Malfoy’s mouth was back on his prick, and Harry couldn’t do anything but feel. Malfoy had redoubled his efforts and Harry was powerless to resist, letting Malfoy quickly and skillfully bring him back to the edge. The vibrations of Malfoy moaning around Harry’s cock made him look back down again, just in time to see Malfoy come, stripes of white falling over Malfoy’s fingers and onto the floorboards. It was one of the hottest things Harry had ever seen, and he couldn’t hold off any longer. He came, hard, in Malfoy’s mouth, his thighs shaking as pleasure raced through him. 

His eyes had fallen shut as he came, so he felt rather than saw Malfoy swallow and then release him, heard the creaks of floorboards as Malfoy stood, felt the crackle of magic in the air and across his skin as Malfoy cast cleaning charms over them and the floor. The sensation of Malfoy’s magic on his skin only added to the pleasurable aftershocks still running through Harry, the particular tenor of Malfoy’s magic familiar now from their afternoon of working together. He thought that he’d be able to recognise it anywhere now, its tones and colours etched into Harry’s skin. 

Malfoy’s voice brought Harry back down to earth. ‘Did it work?’

‘Huh?’ 

‘ _Is the curse gone?_ ’ Malfoy said, his tone making it clear that he thought Harry was a complete idiot.

‘Oh, I dunno,’ Harry said. ‘You’re not touching me now and it doesn’t hurt so, I guess so?’

‘Good,’ Malfoy said, before striding across the room and onto the landing. ‘And now?’

Harry waited for a moment, in tense anticipation of pain erupting under his skin, but when nothing happened, he relaxed. ‘Fine,’ he called out to Malfoy.

‘Good, good,’ Malfoy mused as he walked back into the room. He came to a stop in front of Harry and pulled out his wand, casting a spell over Harry which he recognised as one of their diagnostic spells when lights appeared all over his skin, thin threads of colour that gathered at his chest. 

‘Looks all right to me,’ Harry said, peering down as best he could at his body. 

‘I think so,’ Malfoy agreed, ending the spell, the lights fading to nothing. 

An awkward silence fell then, as they looked at each other. The danger had passed, Harry would survive, what they’d done had worked. Harry supposed he should probably say thank you, but he couldn’t seem to speak. Malfoy came to his rescue yet again.

‘Well,’ he said, clearing his throat slightly. ‘I suppose I should go. Astoria will be waiting for me.’ Harry didn’t miss the way Malfoy didn’t meet his eyes as he mentioned his wife.

‘Yeah, me too, Ginny will be…’ Harry trailed off as a wave of guilt washed over him. Ginny would be at home, waiting for him, ready to spend a nice evening together with no idea that her husband had just had sex with another man. Harry felt like he might be sick. 

‘Goodbye, then,’ Malfoy said, and then he was gone, and Harry was left alone, in the room where they’d fucked, the room where he’d betrayed his wife. 

Although he knew he should go home and see Ginny, tell her everything, confess and hope she was a better person than he was and could forgive him, Harry instead sank down onto the bed, dropping his head into his hands. He sat there for a long time, not moving, unable to face seeing Ginny but unsure what else to do, his mind a whirlwind as he tried to come to terms with what had just happened. He’d never expected to be the type of man who cheated on his wife, but he had, and he would have to live with that for the rest of his life.

* * *

It was fully dark by the time Harry left the house and Apparated home. Lights were visible in the windows of the cottage he and Ginny shared when he appeared in the garden, and another pang of guilt ripped through him. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the front door, hoping that his face wouldn’t immediately give him away.

‘Hey,’ Ginny said when Harry walked into the kitchen, adding ’You’re late, is everything ok?’ Her voice was suffused with a concern that only served to make him feel even worse.

‘Oh, yeah, fine,’ Harry said, a beat too late. Ginny had been cooking—the kitchen smelled of her signature bolognese and wisps of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail were curling from the steam coming from the bubbling pan. ‘I’m going to shower,’ Harry blurted out, the need to get out of the kitchen, to run away overpowering him. ‘Curse residue, you know,’ he added over his shoulder as he dashed out of the room. 

Harry hurriedly stripped off his clothes when he reached the bathroom, stepping into the shower and turning up the water temperature until it tipped over into too hot, the water like needles against his skin. He poured too much shower gel into his palm and scrubbed until every inch of his body was covered in soapy bubbles, then washed it off and did the same thing again. He repeated it again and again, until his skin was red and raw, but he still didn’t feel clean. How could he go downstairs and have dinner with Ginny, a dinner she’d lovingly prepared, when he could still feel the ghost of Malfoy’s hands on him? When the pleasure he’d felt at Malfoy’s touch was still so fresh in his mind? How was he supposed to even look at her without his face immediately giving away everything? Harry pressed his forehead against the cool tiles as guilt overpowered him, letting the water beat down on his back as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the tears that threatened to spill over. 

When the water ran cold, Harry finally dragged himself out of the shower and downstairs. He felt sick at the prospect of trying to chat to Ginny while pretending that his whole world wasn’t shaking on its foundations, and hated the rush of relief he felt when he entered the kitchen to discover that she had given up waiting for him to get out of the shower and eaten without him. The sounds of a Quidditch match on the Wireless drifted into the kitchen from the living room, and Harry knew he should take his plate in there, should join her on the sofa and listen to the match, discussing tactics and slagging off the players as they always did. But he thought that bit of normality might finish him off where the curse had failed to. 

Ginny came into the kitchen as Harry was forcing down the last few bites of his dinner. She was in her pyjamas, her long hair plaited ready for bed as it was every night, and the sight made his heart hurt. This was all he’d wanted for so long, a happy home with the woman he loved, and this should have made him smile, should have made him want to follow Ginny upstairs to the bed they shared, but now all he could think of was how he’d put it all at risk.

‘Are you alright, Harry?’ 

‘I’m fine.’ He hated lying to Ginny, but the truth would be worse. ‘Just tired—it was a big job today.’

‘Ok,’ Ginny said, but she didn’t look convinced. ‘I’m going to bed, don’t stay up too late—you need to sleep when you’ve used that much magic.’ At Ginny’s concern, a lump formed in Harry’s throat, and he could only nod to her in response, too afraid that if he opened his mouth to speak he’d cry, or worse, confess everything. 

Harry lingered in the kitchen long after Ginny had disappeared upstairs, alternating between pacing and sitting at the table with his head in his hands. When he couldn’t hold back the yawns any longer, Harry finally gave in and trudged upstairs, fighting back yet more guilt when he climbed into bed and looked over at Ginny who was curled up on her side, sound asleep. 

It had seemed like the right decision at the time, but as Harry lay next to Ginny, unable to drift off to sleep, the inches separating their bodies feeling like a mile, the memory of Malfoy on his knees floating to the forefront of Harry’s brain, Harry began to think that letting the curse run its course might have been a far easier option.

* * *

Harry owled in sick the next day. 

It wasn’t even that much of a lie. He felt awful. He’d hardly slept, seeing Malfoy every time he closed his eyes, and when he had finally managed to drift off, he’d woken early with a pit in his stomach at the thought of seeing Malfoy again. They hadn’t managed to finish everything in the house the previous day, so they’d have to go back and ensure all the dark magic was gone, before sealing up the house and then writing up their report for the client. The last thing Harry wanted to do was to go back to that house and work next to Malfoy, trying to pretend that nothing had happened between them. If he was off work, someone else would get sent to help Malfoy—no one would risk leaving the job unfinished until he was back. 

Harry spent the day lying on the sofa, a hand-knitted blanket that Molly had given him and Ginny when they had first moved in together pulled over him. He barely moved, not bothering with lunch, pretending to listen to the wireless but in reality staring blankly up at the ceiling, his brain alternating between being blank with shock and almost overwhelmed with thoughts of Malfoy, and curses, and Ginny. Each time he thought of Malfoy his stomach twisted with a mix of guilt, anger, and lingering desire, and thinking of Ginny was even worse. He hated that he had betrayed her, hated that a part of him was still stuck on the implication of Malfoy’s suggestion that they _try something else_ if the blowjob hadn’t been enough, hated the way his cock reacted as he contemplated what would be involved in that something else. His and Ginny’s sex life had faded recently, busy careers and the repetitive nature of married life taking their toll, and he tried to tell himself that the only reason Malfoy was having this effect on him was because he was missing having regular sex. He’d never been that good at lying to himself though, and attempting to was only making him feel worse.

The next day was no different. This time Ginny insisted that he stay at home, telling him he looked dreadful. He must have looked really bad, as she sent him back to bed, bringing him up enough water and snacks to last him until she got home from work. When he heard the crack of her Apparating away, Harry couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, and he sobbed into their pillows, the scent of Ginny all around him.

* * *

Several days of wallowing in guilt later, and Harry had managed to convince himself that he’d done what he had to, that anyone else would have made the same decision as he had, and that it didn’t need to affect his relationship with Ginny at all. The incident with Malfoy was no more than a blip, the logical decision in a matter of life or death, and the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about it only meant that he needed to put some more effort into his relationship with Ginny, not waste any more time thinking about Malfoy and the way he’d made Harry feel. He tried to stop avoiding Ginny’s eyes and shying away from every touch, and returned to work, determined to act as though nothing at all had happened. 

Harry had been staring blankly at the stack of paperwork which had built up while he was off work, when the sound of his name jolted him out of his reverie. 

‘Harry?’ Evangeline Tompkins, a fellow curse-breaker, was standing in the doorway. 

‘Alright, Evangeline?’ Harry said, glancing quickly at his watch and realising with shock that he’d been completely zoned out for well over an hour. 

‘We’re heading off now,’ Evangeline said, before adding, ‘to the pub? It’s Friday.’

‘Ah, of course.’ Harry had forgotten entirely about Friday drinks, a tradition that the whole office tended to take part in. Harry didn’t go every week, but he was enough of a regular that it was natural for Evangeline to assume he would be joining them. 

‘You better not flake like you have the past few weeks,’ she said.

‘I’ll meet you there,’ Harry said, and she nodded, disappearing from Harry’s doorway with a wave. 

Harry rubbed a hand over his face, his stubble rough against his palm. He did usually go to end of the week drinks, and usually had a great time, but Malfoy would be there. Harry had managed to mostly avoid Malfoy since the _incident_ with the jewellery box, only catching a few glimpses of him in the corridor, and they’d yet to have a conversation. Harry hadn’t felt ready to actually speak to Malfoy yet, his emotions still raw and confused, the memory of the cottage too fresh in his mind. So far no one seemed to have noticed that Harry was spending more time than usual in his office, avoiding the kitchen and the communal areas, but if he started skipping Friday drinks too often, questions might start to be asked, and Harry really didn’t want to have to explain his behaviour to anyone. With a sigh, Harry waved a hand, all the papers on his desk flying into neat piles ready for him to get back to work on Monday morning, and then he stood, pulling on his coat and heading out to the pub.

The rest of the office had beaten Harry there, and had bagsied their favourite corner of the pub, pushing tables together and borrowing chairs until they all had seats. Harry spotted Malfoy straight away, sat on the far side of the tables, chatting animatedly to Robertson, and his stomach flipped over at the sight. Blaming it on nerves, and resolutely ignoring the flash of remembered pleasure, Harry made a beeline towards the bar, buying himself two pints. He wasn’t usually a big drinker, especially not at work events, but he had a feeling he’d need it tonight.

Two hours later, Harry was tipsy and embroiled in a rather passionate Quidditch discussion with Evangeline. The evening hadn’t been as bad as he’d feared—Malfoy had stayed on his side of the table, and they’d managed to avoid being pulled into any of the same conversations. That didn’t mean Harry hadn’t been painfully aware of Malfoy’s presence all night though, and he was finding it increasingly hard to stop his gaze from drifting over to him. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen Malfoy this relaxed. His cheeks were pink from the heat of the pub, and he was laughing at whatever Robertson had just said, his face lighting up as he did so. It made something in Harry’s stomach squirm uncomfortably. 

Suddenly in desperate need of a break, Harry mumbled an excuse to Evangeline and escaped to the toilets. They were blessedly empty, and Harry washed his hands, splashing his face with the cool water as he tried to get Malfoy out of his head. He’d only had a couple of pints, but he must be drunker than he thought, to be standing in grotty pub toilets, his mind consumed with alternating images of Malfoy laughing and carefree, and Malfoy lost in the throes of passion, his hand on his dick and his mouth on Harry. If he was honest with himself, he had been having these thoughts regularly ever since the incident, but tonight, now that he’d seen Malfoy again properly, they were having even more of an effect than normal, and Harry couldn’t deal with that. 

‘ _Fuck_ ’ he shouted, slapping his hands down on the counter. It was the alcohol, he decided. He’d had too much to drink, and he and Ginny hadn’t had sex in a while (since well before the incident, a quiet voice in his mind whispered, but he ignored it), and that was it. It had nothing to do with Malfoy at all. He would go home and sleep it off, and then he could go back to trying to ignore Malfoy in peace, and continue to pretend that absolutely nothing had ever happened between them. 

Harry stormed out of the bathroom, his earlier good mood vanished entirely, the door slamming behind him, and walked straight into Malfoy.

‘What the _fuck_ , Malfoy?’ Harry shouted, when he realised who he’d bumped into.

‘Oh I do apologise, Potter, I should have been on the lookout for rampaging Gryffindors,’ Malfoy said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Malfoy was wearing a white shirt again, the top buttons undone to give Harry a tantalising glimpse of his chest, and that was just too much for Harry to take. Blood was pounding through his veins, a dangerous mix of anger and arousal, and Harry rounded on Malfoy, backing him up until his body was pressed against the wall. There was no trace of fear on Malfoy’s face though, instead a wicked smile and a look in his eyes that suggested he knew exactly what Harry was about to do. 

Desperate to wipe that smile off Malfoy’s face, Harry moved in closer, pressing their bodies together, and kissed Malfoy, hard. There was no tenderness in the kiss, no romance or love, but instead just savage need, underpinned with the anger and frustration that had been bubbling in Harry ever since Malfoy had sucked him off and snuck under his skin. Malfoy kissed Harry back just as hard, his tongue slipping into Harry’s mouth and his hands sneaking into Harry’s hair, tightening just enough to make Harry’s nerves prickle with pain and pleasure. It was exactly what Harry had been craving since the last time he had felt Malfoy’s hands on him, and it was that thought which shocked him out of the trance Malfoy’s kiss had pulled him into.

‘Fuck, I can’t do this,’ Harry gasped, stepping back in a desperate attempt to put space between them, to stop him reaching out and hauling Malfoy against him again. ‘I have to go.’

And Harry ran out of the pub, not caring that he’d left his coat behind, the sound of Malfoy calling his name as he left ringing in his ears, his lips still tingling from the feeling of Malfoy’s touch. 

It was just a kiss, Harry told himself afterwards, as he walked aimlessly around London, not ready to go home yet. Just a kiss, a harmless kiss that meant nothing. The first time had been to save his life, this time just a kiss to get it out of his system. He could live with that, couldn’t he?

* * *

The next time was far more than just a kiss. 

All week he’d been haunted by the memory of the kiss, somehow even worse than the memories of the incident, because this time he’d done it on purpose, for no reason other than that he’d wanted to. He couldn’t tell himself that it was fine, that he’d had to do it to save his life, that Ginny would understand because she’d want him alive, no matter the cost. He’d wanted Malfoy, so he’d kissed him. But at least it was only a kiss. 

He’d been assigned a complex case at work that had required him to spend multiple days in a shop on Knockturn Alley, undoing layers of centuries old dark magic. It was tiring work, and he’d returned home each day exhausted, his magic spent from hours of casting, with only enough energy to shovel down a quick dinner before collapsing into bed. It should have been a blessing—it should have left him too busy and too tired to spend endless hours thinking about blond hair and clandestine kisses. And yet, he couldn’t think about anything else. He’d set off another curse because he couldn’t focus on the strings of magic, only avoiding being hit by a nasty spell thanks to the speed of his automatic shielding charm. By Friday, his nerves were shot, thanks to too much work and too many nights spent tossing and turning, alternating between thinking about Malfoy and trying not to. 

He knew he should have gone home straight after work, should have declined when Robertson popped his head around Harry’s office door to tell him it was pub time, and yet he wasn’t strong enough to say no, even as every rational part of his brain told him that drinking around Malfoy, in the place where they’d kissed the week before, was a terrible idea. But that wasn’t enough to stop Harry, and before long he was ensconced at their usual table in the pub, his second pint sat in front of him, his eyes trained on Malfoy where he stood at the bar. 

Harry had beaten Malfoy to the pub and had sat in nervous anticipation as he waited for him to arrive, butterflies spawning in his stomach even as he told himself nothing was going to happen. He was going to have a friendly drink with his colleagues and then go home to Ginny, to his wife, who he loved. He certainly wasn’t going to stare at Malfoy all evening, fighting off the desire to kiss him again. But then Malfoy walked through the door with one of their colleagues, his cheeks pink from the cold air outside and Harry was assaulted by memories of Malfoy’s flushed cheeks as he sucked Harry’s prick. 

He was half-hard in his trousers by the time Malfoy joined them at the table, his movements graceful and his legs distractingly long as he weaved between the tables, never spilling a drop of his drink. Condensation was dripping off the glass and over Malfoy’s fingers, and Harry was seized by a sudden urge to lick them, to taste the cool water mixed with the taste of Malfoy’s skin. For a moment he wondered whether the curse was still active, still causing him to want Malfoy. He hadn’t felt desire like this in so long—it was like being a teenager again, reminiscent of those weeks at Hogwarts in his sixth year when he and Ginny had first got together, his mind occupied at every moment with thoughts of her. But this time, it was Malfoy he couldn’t get out of his head. He dropped his head into his hands in despair, as he willed his prick to go down and thoughts of Malfoy to go away.

‘You all right, Potter?’ Evangeline said a few minutes later, interrupting Harry’s increasingly panicked internal monologue, and Harry looked up to see that everyone at the table, including Malfoy, was looking at him with concern on their faces.

‘Oh,’ Harry said, looking anywhere but at Malfoy. ‘Yeah—I mean, just feeling a bit under the weather. Busy week, you know… I think I’ll just—just go and get some fresh air.’ Harry’s cheeks were burning as he scrambled out of his seat, pushing past the others in his hurry to get outside, away from all the eyes he could feel on him. 

The cool air of the alleyway next to the pub was a blissful relief, and Harry sank back against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to forget what a fool he’d just made of himself. He’d only been outside for a few minutes at most when the sound of the side door of the pub opening made him open his eyes. Malfoy walked through the door and into the alley, his footsteps the only sound in the otherwise quiet night as he walked up to where Harry was standing. Harry didn’t move from his position against the wall, even as Malfoy stopped in front of him, so close that Harry could feel the warmth emanating from his body and smell the cologne that Malfoy always wore.

Harry was tired. He was exhausted from a week of non-stop work, and beyond weary of constantly policing his thoughts in case they strayed too close to Malfoy and having to deal with the guilt when they inevitably did. He was tired, and he had no strength to fight his desires anymore. When Malfoy swayed forward slightly, Harry was powerless to do anything but meet him halfway, a groan escaping from him when their lips met. It was everything he’d been dreaming of for the past week, and all his pent-up desire raced through him like an inferno as he pulled Malfoy flush up against him. 

Malfoy gave as good as Harry was giving, pressing Harry back against the rough brick wall, his hand in Harry’s hair and his hips grinding against Harry’s, leaving Harry in no doubt that Malfoy was as into this as Harry was. All the sensible parts of Harry’s brain switched off as he gave himself over to feeling, letting himself be swept away with the movements of Malfoy’s mouth and hips. Too soon, Harry was moaning into every kiss and pressing into Malfoy’s body, the feel of Malfoy’s erection against his own bringing him to the brink even through their clothes. 

Malfoy tipped over the edge first, his hips stuttering, losing their rhythm, as he shuddered against Harry. The knowledge that Malfoy was coming, spilling inside his fancy trousers because of Harry, was too much for Harry, and he followed suit, coming to sound of Malfoy groaning his name. He collapsed back against the wall, eyes closed, shivers of pleasure rushing over his skin, his brain unable to process the complicated mix of pleasure and lingering lust and guilt he felt. He could hear Malfoy straightening his clothes, felt the magic in the air as he cast a cleaning charm on himself, but Harry kept his eyes closed, too scared to open them and see Malfoy. If he kept his eyes closed, he could avoid facing this for just a little bit longer.

* * *

After that, it became impossible for Harry to avoid thinking about Malfoy, and impossible for him to pretend that this was nothing more than just a quick blowjob to save his life. Thoughts of Malfoy plagued him from the moment he woke up, hard and aching from dreams filled with pale hair and long limbs, to the moment he drifted off at night. He tried to hide it, to keep his inner turmoil from Ginny, but Harry had a feeling he wasn’t hiding it very well. He found himself working late, his stomach curdling when the clock ticked towards five o’clock, automatically reaching for another report when he should have been packing up and heading home. It was safer to stay hidden away in his office, where he could let his thoughts wander as much as he wanted without worrying that Ginny would sense what he was thinking about. 

He knew he should stop this, that he should tell Ginny what had happened and work with her to move past it, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough to resist sneaking off to the shower every morning so that he could sink back into his dreams and pretend that the hand on his cock belonged to Malfoy. He was constantly on edge, second guessing every action in case he inadvertently revealed anything to Ginny, tired from all the extra hours he was putting in at work to avoid going home, his nerves fried from awareness of Malfoy any time they were both in the office. A single encounter in the office kitchen was enough to have Harry’s heart racing, an hour trying to avoid looking over at Malfoy during the team meeting leaving him half-hard, desire building with every glance at Malfoy. 

It didn’t mean the guilt wasn’t eating him up though, with every kiss he shrugged off and every cuddle he squirmed away from at night. He could barely meet Ginny’s eye without feeling a sick sensation in his stomach, and after every furtive wank shame flooded him as he came back to earth and was reminded that he was in the house that he and Ginny shared rather than some fantasy with Malfoy. She deserved better than a husband like him, who wasn’t brave enough to tell her what had happened and let her be free to meet someone who would only think of her. Someone who wouldn’t deceive her with every lie and avoided touch.

And yet each week when Friday came, Harry headed to the pub, aware that he stood no chance of resisting Malfoy, and not caring anyway. Malfoy might not give any indication of his interest in Harry during the week, their interactions at work strictly professional, but once they were at the pub everything changed. Harry would make a point to sit far away from Malfoy and try and make conversation with the rest of his colleagues, pretending to be interested in the latest office gossip and Quidditch matches, all the while covertly glancing over at Malfoy, need growing with each look, each flash of lust in Malfoy’s eyes as their gaze met across the table. 

They never discussed it, never made official plans, but by unspoken agreement, several hours into the evening, one of them would excuse themself from the group, heading for the alley, the other following soon after. Harry didn’t know which way round he preferred, waiting in the alley for Malfoy to join him, anticipation building in his gut, or going out to meet Malfoy, enduring those long minutes waiting in the pub to avoid suspicion by imagining what Malfoy might have in store for him. 

Harry quickly learned what Malfoy might have been implying when he had mentioned _trying something else_ —Malfoy once again demonstrated his oral skills, leaving Harry’s hands scratched from scrabbling against the brick wall as his legs trembled under the onslaught of Malfoy’s mouth, and Harry had never felt so powerful as he did when he returned the favour, overcome by the heady rush of knowing that he was the reason Malfoy was falling apart, his hands tight in Harry’s hair as he spilled down Harry’s throat. When Malfoy spun Harry around one week, the mouth on Harry’s cock being replaced by Malfoy’s hand and a tongue licking up his crease, Harry came almost immediately, the novelty of the act and the feeling of someone touching him in a place he’d only tentatively explored on his own more than he could bear. The week following that was one of the hardest Harry had experienced, his thoughts constantly returning to the alleyway, his cock constantly half-hard. When Friday finally came and Malfoy did it again, Harry nearly wept with relief.

Despite all the things they did together, all the touching, the kissing, the agonisingly perfect grinding against each other, one thing they never did was talk. They weren’t silent, of course, the night air filling with their breathy moans, their exhortations for _more_ , but they never talked about what they were doing. At work they steadfastly stuck to discussions of mundane case details if they had to interact at all, and once they were outside the pub, they were too busy to talk, mouths occupied and concentration elsewhere. More than that, Harry was happy to use any excuse to avoid talking about what was happening between them, despite knowing they probably should. Talking about it would make it real. Malfoy never brought up Astoria, and Harry never mentioned Ginny, resolutely ignoring the way his stomach squirmed with guilt whenever he caught a glimpse of one of their wedding rings, and he never asked Malfoy how he could live with what they were doing. He was content to try and stay in denial, to continue to pretend that because they never shared a bed and never talked or brought up feelings that this wasn’t as bad as it could be. 

However hard he tried to tell himself that, Harry knew he was lying to himself. He knew it with every strained conversation he had with Ginny, every kiss he shrugged off, every daydream about Malfoy that he revelled in, but it wasn’t enough to break his infatuation.

* * *

The air was cold on Harry’s overheated skin when he snuck out into the alley, his cheeks hot from the overcrowded pub and the beer he’d drunk. The team had been even more raucous than usual today, and it had taken Harry longer than he’d liked to extricate himself. He hoped it wouldn’t take Malfoy too long to make his escape, but he wasn’t too optimistic, considering how enthusiastically Ava had been telling Malfoy about a new curse she’d come across that week.

While he waited, Harry leant on the wall, watching the door, the way his jumper snagged on the rough brick reminding him of all the things they’d done out here. There was something they hadn’t tried yet, though, and Harry had been increasingly consumed by thoughts of it over the past few weeks. He’d even gone so far as to visit a sex shop in Muggle London, under the cover of the invisibility cloak, to pick up a magazine, surreptitiously dropping the money onto the counter when the shopkeeper’s back was turned before sneaking out behind another customer. The photos in the magazine had been very instructional, despite the fact that they didn’t move—visiting a wizarding shop was far too risky, considering how interested the wizarding press still were in Harry, even all these years after the war—and had left Harry with a burning curiosity to know what fucking a man felt like in reality. He was hard just thinking about it, and he couldn’t resist rubbing his erection through his jeans as he waited for Malfoy to join him. Tonight was the night.

‘You took your time,’ Harry said when Malfoy finally appeared through the door. 

‘Ava wouldn’t shut up,’ Malfoy said, his voice laced with frustration as he stalked over to Harry, crowding him against the wall with his body before catching Harry’s lips in a punishing kiss.

As always, it was like Harry had been desperately thirsty all week and only now was he able to find relief, Malfoy’s lips against his slaking a need that had been burning in him since the last time they did this. In no time at all, they were grinding against each other, Malfoy’s erection hard against Harry’s as they kissed and groped at each other. The movement of his hips only served to remind Harry of how badly he wanted to fuck Malfoy, and he pulled away from their kiss with a gasp, stilling Malfoy’s movement with a firm hand on his hip. Malfoy looked at Harry, a puzzled expression on his face—once they’d started, they didn’t usually stop, for anything, too intent on chasing their orgasms. 

‘I want to fuck you,’ Harry blurted out, nerves racing through his system as he spoke the words he’d been longing to say for so many weeks. 

‘Took you long enough to ask,’ Malfoy said, heat flaring in his eyes, and then he was kissing Harry again. His hand moved from where it had been clutching at Harry’s hip, encouraging his thrusts, to Harry’s flies, quickly unbuttoning them with a finesse that Harry had never managed in his many fumbled attempts to get into Malfoy’s trousers. Malfoy’s fingers wrapped tightly around Harry’s cock, pulling a gasp of relief and pleasure from him. Combined with the way Malfoy was kissing Harry’s neck, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin in a way that sent shivers down Harry’s spine, it was nearly enough to make Harry forget what he intended to do. 

Thankfully, Malfoy wasn’t as forgetful as Harry, and he stopped his assault on Harry’s neck, stepping back and pulling Harry with him, before turning them round so that he was next to the wall. Then, with an unabashed stare at Harry, a challenge in his eyes that made Harry’s blood boil, he undid his trousers, pushing them down along with his boxers. Harry got a momentary glimpse at Malfoy’s cock before he turned around, bracing his arms against the wall and pushing his arse out towards Harry. 

Harry’s cock leapt at the sight of the arse he’d been dreaming about for so long, and his heart thumped wildly in his chest as the momentousness of what they were about to do made itself known. His mouth was dry with nerves as he stepped closer to Malfoy, running one hand over the exposed curve of Malfoy’s arse, hoping he wouldn’t be able to feel how much Harry was trembling. Malfoy’s skin was soft under Harry’s fingers, goosebumps appearing from the cool evening air, and he shivered slightly when Harry’s fingers brushed the edge of his crease. Noticing the reaction, Harry did it again, and again, his fingers dipping further in each time, until Malfoy was pressing back, chasing the sensation. When Harry tentatively reached out and petted Malfoy’s hole with the tip of one finger, Malfoy moaned, and the sound gave Harry the confidence he needed to cast a wandless lube charm and slowly slide his finger into Malfoy. 

Malfoy was hot and tight around Harry’s finger as Harry slowly opened him up, letting Malfoy’s moans guide him as he figured out how to touch him. Before long Malfoy was pushing back to meet every movement of Harry’s fingers. Harry’s cock was achingly hard, and he was sorely tempted to reach down, just like Malfoy had that day in the cottage, and bring himself off as he drove Malfoy wild with just his fingers. One day he would do that, he caught himself thinking, before he reminded himself that there shouldn’t be a _one day_ , that they needed to stop this, before it went any further and consumed Harry even more completely than it already had. 

‘I’m ready, Potter, get on with it.’ Malfoy’s impatient voice broke Harry’s train of thought and brought him back to the present with a rush of lust as he looked away from Malfoy’s arse to meet his heated gaze.

‘Yes—fuck—yes,’ Harry said, hurriedly conjuring more lube and slicking up his cock before bracing one hand against the wall, his body bracketing Malfoy’s. 

The slide of his cock into Malfoy was slow and blissful, the sensation different and even better than he’d imagined it would be. He had to close his eyes tightly against the sensation as his orgasm threatened to overtake him, holding still and trying to distract himself until the immediate rush of pleasure ebbed slightly. Malfoy began to move first, shifting his hips, pushing back against Harry as he started to thrust forward. As their movements picked up speed, Harry’s world narrowed to just them, and the feeling of Malfoy’s body around his cock, and the heat of his back against Harry’s chest. He leaned forward, pressing their bodies even tighter together, that distinctive Malfoy smell surrounding him, the alley filling with the sound of their groans and harsh breathing. Needing to touch more of Malfoy, Harry grabbed one of the hands Malfoy had pressed against the wall, interlocking their fingers. It was the most intimate, affectionate, _innocent_ thing they’d done since this began. They were quick blowjobs and messy handjobs in dirty alleyways, not hand-holding and cuddles, and Harry knew he was on dangerous territory, conflating the two, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

As they moved together, their hands still clinging tightly on to each other as pleasure built in Harry’s gut, he realised the sexual desire he’d felt for Malfoy had changed, shifting into something far more unsettling. It had become something more, something that led to him dreaming about Malfoy for hours each day, paperwork pushed aside and long forgotten as he wondered what Malfoy was doing, where he was in the office, whether they might bump into each other, an anticipation and excitement that he’d not felt in a long time. When Malfoy moaned and clenched around him, ripping Harry’s orgasm out of him with a shout, Harry was overtaken by a rush of emotion that had him dropping his forehead onto Malfoy’s shoulder as he let it wash over him, a confusing mix of pleasure, guilt, happiness, and above all, a sudden realisation that he wanted to keep this newfound intimacy.

Once Harry had caught his breath and pulled his emotions under control, he stepped back, untangling their fingers before casting a cleaning charm over them both, wiping away any evidence of what they’d just done. He knew it would be harder to wipe it from him, though, knew that what they’d done, the fucking and the hand-holding, had somehow crossed over into new territory, the ground beneath their feet far shakier now. By the time Malfoy turned around, Harry had straightened out his clothes and attempted to smooth his hair, but he could tell from the expression on Malfoy’s face that he wasn’t doing a good job of hiding the emotions running through him. 

For the first time since they’d started doing this, Malfoy didn’t immediately leave the alleyway. He looked nearly as wrecked as Harry felt, his shirt creased from the vigour of their fucking, his eyes wild. Seeing Malfoy like this, pleasure-rumpled, his cheeks still pink, his defences down, made Harry’s stomach squirm. When it became clear that Malfoy wasn’t in any hurry to go anywhere, Harry leant against the wall, his legs still trembling slightly from their exertions as he moved. It was a bit of a relief, to be standing next to Malfoy rather than in front of him, where he could look at Harry directly. Harry was far too aware of what his face might be giving away, and he wasn’t sure he could bear it if Malfoy addressed it. Thankfully, Malfoy stayed quiet, the two of them leaning against the wall in silence. They were close, nearly close enough to touch, and Harry fought the urge to cross the divide between them and take Malfoy’s hand again. They weren’t like that, didn’t do things like talk or hold hands or cuddle after fucking. But tonight seemed to be a night for new things, because after long minutes of silence, Malfoy spoke. 

‘Did I ever tell you the result of the investigation into that cottage?’ Malfoy said, his tone studiously casual.

Harry shook his head, too shocked that Malfoy was bringing up something even tangentially connected to the incident to speak. 

‘It was her daughter,’ Malfoy said when it became clear that Harry wasn’t going to add anything. ‘The one who referred the cottage to us in the first place. After—’ Malfoy paused for a second, as he seemed to search for the words that would let them dance around the reality of what had happened in the cottage, ‘when we went back, finished the investigation, we realised that a lot of the objects had been purchased at the same shop, and recently too.’

‘Really? They weren’t heirlooms?’ Harry was intrigued despite himself, and he wanted to know what Malfoy had found out. 

‘No, or at least not heirlooms from that family. Robertson did some digging and found out which shop they’d come from, and we eventually managed to get the owner to show us his records. The daughter had bought them all, in quick succession, and had evidently decided to hide them at her mother’s house.’

‘But why? Was the mother in on it?’ 

‘We don’t think so—reports from neighbours suggest that she was having memory problems, that a lot of the time she couldn’t keep track of things, so we presume the daughter thought she could sneak things into the house and her mother would never notice them.’ Malfoy’s tone was harsh, his words dripping with disdain for the daughter’s actions, and Harry hated how much that pleased him.

‘Surely that’s incredibly risky, bringing highly dangerous objects into the house of someone who might accidentally set them off? Who would put their mother’s life in danger like that?’

‘She clearly decided it was worth the risk, and for good reason,’ Malfoy said, twisting so that he could look at Harry. ‘You were right, it turns out.’

‘I was?’ Harry had absolutely no idea what Malfoy was talking about.

‘Well, mostly anyway,’ Malfoy said with a wry smile. ‘You asked if the owner of the cottage could be involved with the Death Eaters. _She_ wasn’t, but her daughter was. That’s why she hid the objects at her mother’s house, because she knew her house was at risk of being searched. The Aurors have a file on her, have been investigating her on and off for several years, and they were very interested in what we’d found. They’ve taken over the case now, and hope to finally prosecute her.’

Malfoy tailed off, and the look on his face made Harry’s stomach writhe nervously. 

‘What?’ he pressed, knowing somehow that Malfoy was keeping something back.

‘There’s a chance we might be called to testify against her,’ Malfoy sighed. ‘To explain what we found.’

‘Oh.’ They’d left the incident with the jewellery box out of their case report, so if that got submitted as evidence no one would need to know what had happened, but if they got called as witnesses… well, it wouldn’t be completely out of the ordinary for them to be asked to take Veritaserum, or to submit their memories as proof of what they said on the stand, and that would have disastrous consequences for both of them. 

‘We should hopefully be able to avoid it—I made it clear we’re not keen to be brought in, and hinted that having an ex-Death Eater and the _’Chosen One’_ involved in the trial might detract attention from the case and potentially affect their chances of securing a conviction, but I thought I should probably let you know.’

‘Cheers,’ Harry said, genuinely appreciative of the effort Malfoy had gone to to protect them both. If what had happened in that cottage got out, there would be hell to pay for both of them, from their wives and from the public. Harry knew that Malfoy would face the brunt of the public response too—the wider wizarding population still viewed him with distrust, and Harry was sure there’d be at least a few people who would be inclined to doubt that Malfoy’s only involvement had been curing the curse.

‘You’re welcome,’ Malfoy said, before adding, his tone slightly uncertain ‘I, ah, thought it would be best for both of us if no one looked too closely at what happened that day.’

‘Probably,’ Harry agreed. This was the closest they’d come to acknowledging the potential consequences of what they were doing, and it was an awkward reminder of the real world that awaited them outside of the alley. 

They stood in silence for a moment, and then Malfoy sighed. ‘I should probably go,’ he said, his gaze locked on Harry. Something in his expression made Harry’s stomach flip, and he had the sudden urge to grab Malfoy’s hand, to ask him to stay, just for a little bit longer.

But that wasn’t what they did, that _couldn’t_ be what they did, so Harry simply nodded. ‘Me too,’ he added when Malfoy didn’t move or look away.

‘I—’ Malfoy started, then paused. ‘Tonight was good, Potter,’ he said eventually, to Harry’s great surprise. They never talked like this.

‘Yeah,’ Harry said. ‘Yeah, it was.’ He couldn’t hold back a smile as he remembered how brilliant Malfoy had felt as they moved together, and Malfoy’s answering smile only made his own grow even more. 

‘See you next week, Potter,’ Malfoy said, and then he was gone, the crack of his Disapparition reverberating around the alley. With anticipation for the following week already bubbling in his veins, Harry followed suit and disappeared into thin air.

The wave of guilt that always accompanied Harry when he returned home from his Friday nights with Draco rolled through him as usual when he appeared in his front garden. Conscious that he was even later getting home than normal, he cringed at the loud gravel under his feet as he walked up the path, and tried his best to open the door silently. Waking Ginny up as he snuck into bed, the fingerprints of another man still lingering on his skin, would only make him feel like even more of a dick. 

The possibility of disturbing Ginny’s sleep turned out to be the least of his worries. 

The light spilling from the gap under the closed kitchen door was his first clue, and when he hesitantly opened the door, wand at the ready just in case, the expression he saw on Ginny’s face when he spotted her made it immediately clear. Something was wrong. 

‘Ginny? Is everything ok?’ Harry quickly shoved his wand in his back pocket and hurried across the room to where Ginny was sitting at the kitchen table, her arms crossed over her chest, her face stony. 

‘You tell me, Harry,’ she said, her tone unlike any Harry had heard her use before. 

For a moment, Harry was completely bewildered, without a clue what she meant. Then he saw the trunk next to the table, and with sickening certainty he knew that he was found out. 

‘Gin—’ Harry started, but Ginny interrupted him.

‘No, Harry,’ she shouted over him, standing up with such force that the legs of her chair scraped loudly across the floor. ‘You don’t get to ‘Gin’ me, not anymore. Not when I’ve seen you with your cock up Draco fucking Malfoy’s arse, of all people.’

Fury was radiating off her in waves, and Harry took an automatic step back as she continued to shout. He’d known he was wrapped up in Malfoy, that Malfoy could hold his attention like no one else, but he couldn’t believe he’d been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed his own wife in the alley with them. 

‘How could you, Harry? Did you think I’d never find out?’

‘I—’

‘Did you think I wouldn’t notice you acting strange? Avoiding me, avoiding kissing, touching me? Do you think I’m stupid, Harry?’

‘I don’t think you’re stupid!’ Harry burst in. He knew he deserved all the yelling and more, but he didn’t want Ginny to think badly of herself.

His interruption seemed to break through Ginny’s initial burst of anger, and she deflated slightly, the rage giving way to something worse, something more akin to sadness, and that only made Harry feel even worse. The last thing he’d wanted to do throughout all of this was hurt Ginny. 

‘How long?’ Ginny said on a sigh, her voice quiet again.

‘I—’ Harry briefly considered lying, pretending that it was a one-time thing, that he’d never touched Malfoy other than the incident she’d stumbled upon tonight, but he couldn’t. She deserved so much—a better husband, for a start—that the truth was the least he could give her.

‘Harry?’ Ginny pressed, her face set again, the anger seeping back in to her expression the longer he stalled. 

‘A few months,’ Harry said, closing his eyes as he spoke, too cowardly to see the look on Ginny’s face at his confession.

‘A few months?! What the fuck, Harry?’ Ginny sank back down onto her chair, dropping her head into her hands, her long hair falling around her face, shielding her from Harry. ‘How could you?’ she added, so quietly that Harry almost didn’t hear.

‘I’m sorry, Ginny, I’m so so sorry,’ Harry said, his voice cracking on the last few words. ‘I—I can explain.’

‘Oh, really? Try me,’ Ginny said, looking up at Harry again, her tone icy and her expression cold, but Harry could see the tears filling her eyes.

Hurriedly, Harry pulled out the chair opposite Ginny and sat, wanting to get his explanation out before she started shouting, or crying. 

‘It started at work—’

‘Of course it did,’ Ginny said with a harsh, mirthless laugh.

‘We were sent on a job together,’ Harry continued, ignoring Ginny’s interruption. ‘This old cottage, full of dark artifacts. Long story short, I got hit by a curse, and, well. We had to, you know, or I would have died.’

Ginny didn’t look impressed by Harry’s explanation, her eyebrows raised and disbelief etched across her face. ‘You expect me to believe that you fucked Malfoy because of a curse?’

‘It’s true!’ Harry exclaimed, casting about for a way to make her believe him. ‘If he stopped touching me, everything hurt, almost as bad as the Cruciatus Curse. Apparently it’s old magic, meant to, um, help with marriages. And we didn’t fuck, anyway,’ Harry added as an afterthought, although he regretted it immediately. 

‘Oh, well that makes it all better then. What did you do, cheeky handjob? Quick blowjob and figured the wives couldn’t get too mad because no cocks went in an arse?’

Harry cringed, knowing that he’d used exactly that argument to justify it to himself.

‘Speaking of wives, I should talk to Astoria,’ Ginny said, getting out of her chair and going to the dresser where they kept their parchment. ‘I presume she isn’t aware of her husband’s life-saving heroics?’ she tossed back over her shoulder at Harry.

‘I—uh—I don’t know,’ Harry said, aware that nothing he said was going to make this any better but still trying to work out a way through the minefield anyway.

‘I suppose you didn’t have much time for chatting.’ Ginny had turned back around, her search for parchment forgotten. ‘Bit hard to talk about your wives when your mouth is full of Malfoy’s prick, I imagine?’

Harry had no idea what to say to that, other than to apologise once again, however futile it might be. 

‘Save it, Harry,’ Ginny interrupted his apologies. ‘The curse I can get, just, although you should have told me. But you didn’t, and you kept going. You kept seeing him, fucking him, falling for him, and said nothing to me, expecting me to not notice anything, like I wouldn’t notice my husband avoiding me.’ Ginny’s voice got louder as she spoke until she was shouting again. 

‘I’m not falling for him!’ Harry retorted, to which Ginny rolled her eyes.

‘Sure, Harry, you keep telling yourself that while you fuck him more intimately than you’ve touched me in months. I saw you, holding hands, and your mind’s been elsewhere for months, thinking about him, right?’

Harry had no response to that—she was right. Malfoy was all he’d been able to think about for months, but that didn’t mean he was falling for him. How could he? It was _Malfoy_. He might be fit, and brilliant at sex, and sure, Harry might have liked holding his hand and talking to him this evening, but that didn’t mean he _loved_ him. It was just sex, he told himself resolutely, even as a quiet voice in his head immediately disputed that.

‘I’m going to the Burrow,’ Ginny said, cutting into Harry’s internal crisis about the depth of his feelings for Malfoy. ‘I can’t share you, Harry. I’m glad Malfoy saved your life, but if you love him, if you don’t love me anymore, then I can’t do this. I’ll come back later tomorrow, but before I do, you need to decide what, and _who_ , you want.’

Her words had barely sunk in before she was gone, the front door slamming behind her, the echo painfully loud in the quiet kitchen. Harry dropped his head into his hands, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes in an attempt to stem the tears that were threatening to fall. He’d known deep down that he wouldn’t get away with it for long, that he couldn’t go on seeing Malfoy and coming home to Ginny, but he hadn’t been prepared for how much it hurt to see Ginny that angry. He’d never set out to betray her, to make her feel a fool, but he’d been blinded by lust—and maybe more—and hadn’t been strong enough to make the right choice and stay away from Malfoy. 

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Harry wandered aimlessly around the house that he and Ginny had made their home, the place where they had laughed and made love and built a life together, turning from scared, war-scarred kids into just about functional adults. The thought of giving all that up, all the plans they had for their life together, throwing it away because of an infatuation, seemed crazy, and Harry’s heart ached at the thought of everything he could lose as a result of it. But then he thought about never seeing Malfoy again—because he’d have to stop seeing him completely, in any context, if he was to resist touching him, kissing him—and pain rushed through him at the very thought of it, and Harry knew Ginny was right. 

His feelings for Malfoy had become deeper than he’d ever intended. He’d wormed his way into Harry’s mind and heart, and Harry didn’t think he could give that up. He and Malfoy had always been linked, first in hatred, now in something different, had always orbited each other, and Harry couldn’t imagine his life without Malfoy in it in some form. 

It was late by the time Harry fell into a fitful sleep on the sofa, where he’d settled after he’d grown tired of pacing the house, and he woke up early the following morning, back protesting at his choice of bed, stomach churning at the thought of the day ahead of him. He’d made his decision the night before, and though it broke his heart to think of losing her, he couldn’t keep lying to her, couldn’t keep treating her so badly. She deserved a husband who loved her, with all his heart, and though it hurt to admit it, Harry knew that wasn’t him, not anymore. All that was left to do was tell her. 

When he heard her opening the front door, he took a deep breath, steeling himself, and went to meet her, bracing himself to throw away the life he’d wanted for so long for a man he wasn’t even sure loved him back.

* * *

They managed to keep the news of their divorce a secret for two months. 

The time went by in a whirlwind, Harry overwhelmed both mentally and also with things to do. Although Ginny had gone back to the Burrow after Harry had told her his decision, she had come back again the next day so that they could plan. Harry had told her to stay in their house, offering to move to Grimmauld. They had both agreed that they wanted to keep the news to themselves for as long as possible, to give them time to process before the press and the public began to pry, and if Ginny rented or bought another house, they would lose that secrecy. Harry still owned Grimmauld Place—it had never felt right to sell it—and he could easily move there without anyone knowing. 

He moved out that day, although the process of untangling their lives took much longer than that first symbolic move. 

They had years of possessions to sort through and divide up, each photograph album or holiday souvenir they found bringing up memories that made them laugh and cry. Harry took some furniture over to Grimmauld Place in an attempt to make it a bit more habitable, although nothing could fully detract from the gloom of years of neglect, while Ginny tentatively and discreetly started to search for somewhere else to live, having decided that she didn’t want to stay in the house they’d shared. Spending so much time with her, as they sorted through the remnants of their life together, was both impossibly hard, as Harry was reminded of everything he was leaving behind, and yet also exactly what he needed, as they jointly said goodbye to their time together. 

Ginny had told the Weasleys that first night—no one could ever keep a secret from Molly, especially if it was about something that was upsetting one of her children—so Harry was spared the agony of having to tell them that he was leaving their daughter, but he still felt like he needed to speak to them himself, so one day he Apparated over to the Burrow, sick to his stomach with nerves. Molly had cried throughout his visit, and Arthur had been colder than he usually was, but as Harry was leaving after making awkward conversation over his cup of tea and cake, Molly pulled him into a hug and made him promise not to stay away for too long. He’d been terrified that by leaving Ginny he might be losing the closest thing he had to family, but he left the Burrow with a warm kernel of hope lodged in his heart that one day, once the dust had settled, he might be able to come back. 

Ron came to see Harry before he could go and see him, appearing through the Floo one evening several weeks after he had moved into Grimmauld Place, nearly giving Harry a heart attack with his sudden arrival. Harry had been feeling guilty about avoiding Ron, had known he should have gone to see him straight away, but he had been afraid to. Ron had always been protective of Ginny, and still distrusted Malfoy, and Harry knew Ron wouldn’t have been happy to hear that Harry had cheated on his sister with a man he hated.

Unsurprisingly, Ron was angry with Harry at first—Harry had let him shout, get it out of his system, had let the insulting things Ron said about Malfoy wash over him until Ron ran out of steam, his anger burning out as it always did eventually. Once Ron was settled on the sofa with a cold beer in his hand, Harry explained everything, from the incident at the cottage through to his conversation with Ginny and his plans for the future. Ron’s facial expressions told Harry exactly what he was thinking as Harry recounted the events of the last few months, but he stayed quiet, letting Harry talk, and only when Harry had finished speaking did he admit that he wasn’t sure he’d ever understand what drew Harry to Malfoy, but that he was with Harry whatever he chose. Heart full and shoulders drained of tension that he didn’t even realise he’d been carrying, Harry pulled Ron into a hug. Things weren’t completely fixed—Harry knew he’d have plenty more awkward conversations to get through, but as the evening passed by, the two of them sitting on the sofa listening to a Quidditch match, beers in hand, Harry felt like just maybe everything would be all right. 

Even as Harry spent his evenings and weekends pulling apart the threads of his life, thoughts of Malfoy continued to occupy a corner of his mind. Knowing that he needed time to process and decide what he wanted from his life, Harry avoided Malfoy at work, dodging him in corridors and refusing to look his way during meetings. He wanted nothing more than to tell Malfoy what was going on, but he couldn’t—he and Ginny had agreed that they would keep it quiet, and he was determined to keep at least one promise he’d made to her. So he made excuses every time Malfoy tried to talk to him at work, pleading too much paperwork or an urgent case, dashing out of the room even as his fingers itched to touch Malfoy’s skin and the desire to kiss him threatened to overwhelm him. 

Skipping the pub on Fridays was the hardest part. Harry knew he couldn’t go—he’d be powerless to resist the temptation to meet Malfoy in their alleyway—but sitting at home, imagining what they could be doing if they hadn’t been discovered was harder than Harry expected. Every Friday he waved goodbye to his colleagues, ignoring their pleas to join them at the pub and studiously not looking at Malfoy, then headed home, where he proceeded to down several beers while lying on the sofa, wondering whether Malfoy was thinking about him too.

* * *

The day the news broke in the papers, Harry stayed at home. He didn’t even bother to owl in—he knew his boss would see the _Prophet_ and would know why he wasn’t in. It was the main headline of the day, _'Potters in shock split'_ written large above a photo of them on their wedding day, smiling as they looked at each other. Everyone in the wizarding world would know by now. Harry tried not to think too much about who exactly that included, tried not to wonder what their reaction would be. 

He spent the day alternating between pacing around Grimmauld Place, roaming the many rooms and floors of the house, and lying on the sofa, nerves coiling in his stomach as he wondered what everyone was saying about them. He wondered if he was a topic of gossip in the office, if his coworkers were asking how they didn’t know earlier, if they were picking over his behaviour to spot the warning signs that this was on the way. Wondered if Malfoy was listening. Wondered what he might be thinking. Wondered if he would do anything, now that he knew Harry was single. 

When the knock on the door finally came, Harry jumped at the noise in the otherwise silent house. Harry had hoped he’d come, but as the day had passed with no visit, he’d tried to accept that Malfoy wasn’t coming, that the news hadn’t meant anything to him. His heart pounding in his chest, Harry rushed to open the door, terrified in case it was Malfoy on the other side of the door, and terrified that it wouldn’t be. 

Harry’s hand trembled as he opened the door, and a heady rush of relief and anticipation flooded his body when he took in Malfoy stood on the doorstep, the light spilling from the streetlamp above making his hair glow in the early evening twilight.

They didn’t speak for a moment. Malfoy was still dressed in his work clothes, the dark blue of his robes reminding Harry of what had started this whole thing. He looked uncertain, his hands fidgety as he shuffled on the doorstep, as though he couldn’t decide whether to come closer or leave.

‘You saw the paper, then?’ Harry said eventually.

‘Yes,’ Malfoy replied simply.

‘I didn’t know if you’d come.’

‘I didn’t either. I didn’t know if you’d want to see me. At least I know now why you’ve been avoiding me for the past few months.’ 

Harry had never seen Malfoy look so unsure of himself, and the unexpected vulnerability made it easy for Harry to be honest for once. 

‘Of course I want to see you,’ Harry said, shifting slightly in a wordless invitation for Malfoy to come in. 

Malfoy took the hint and walked over the threshold, his arm brushing Harry’s as he passed. Just that simple touch sent shivers down Harry’s spine, and he felt dazed as he closed the door. The snick of the lock echoed loudly in the otherwise silent hall as Harry turned to face Malfoy. Only a few paces separated them, and Harry’s body burned with awareness of their proximity. It felt like so long since he had touched Malfoy, the two months since that last night dragging on for eternity. Malfoy’s face was half in shadows, the dim light from the sconces on the walls making it hard for Harry to see his expression, but he thought that he saw a familiar look of hunger, of want, on Malfoy’s face.

Harry was proved right when Malfoy took a step forward, and then another, slowly closing the distance between them. He stopped just in front of Harry, so close that if Harry twitched his fingers they would brush against the fabric of Malfoy’s trousers, and stilled, looking at Harry for a long moment. Deciding that it was now or never, Harry dropped all the barriers that he usually kept wrapped around his heart and didn’t try and keep his feelings from appearing on his face. He let Malfoy look, let Malfoy see all the want and desire that Harry felt for him, let Malfoy see how much Harry had missed him while they had been apart. 

‘I missed you,’ Harry said quietly, watching Malfoy’s face closely to catch his reaction. ‘I only stayed away at work because it was too hard to pretend that I only saw you as a colleague.’

Malfoy was quiet for a moment, the silence thick between them and stretching long enough that Harry began to think he’d miscalculated, misunderstood what they were to each other.

‘I missed you, too,’ Malfoy said finally. Those simple words were enough to make Harry’s heart soar, and then Malfoy leaned in, and Harry couldn’t hold back any longer. 

Harry’s arms wrapped around Malfoy and pulled him in closer as their lips met in a blistering kiss, need rushing through Harry with incredible speed. Malfoy crowded Harry back until he was pressed against the wall, the sensation familiar from all their alleyway trysts. All of Harry’s good intentions to talk to Malfoy, to explain how he was feeling, to find out whether Malfoy might feel the same, vanished as Malfoy ground their crotches together, drawing a moan out of Harry. 

On those long, lonely Friday nights, Harry had fantasised about what it might be like if he slept with Malfoy again, wanking endlessly to dreams of feeling Malfoy’s skin against his own. He’d imagined that they’d take it slow, taking their time to explore each other’s bodies in ways that they hadn’t been able to before, taking each other apart slowly in the comfort of a bed. All those dreams fell by the wayside, though, when Malfoy slipped a hand under the hem of Harry’s t-shirt. 

His hand was cold against Harry’s hot skin, the temperature combining with the heady sensation of Malfoy’s touch on his skin after so long to leave Harry shivering, and all thoughts of taking things slowly vanished as desperate need overtook Harry. He pulled back for just long enough to pull his t-shirt off, Malfoy quickly following suit and removing his own shirt, before grabbing Malfoy’s hand and practically dragging him up the stairs to his bedroom. 

Harry waved his wand as they entered the room, the lamps on the bedside tables flaring into life, and then dropped it, not caring where it rolled away to, when he felt Malfoy’s hands at his flies. Malfoy’s practiced fingers soon had Harry’s jeans pushed down to his thighs, and Harry rushed to help, stripping them and his boxers off, leaving him bare. At that, Malfoy paused, his eyes roaming over Harry’s bared skin, and Harry let him look for a moment, then reached out and undid Malfoy’s trousers, needing to see him too, to discover everything that the dark alley had hidden from him. 

Malfoy was beautiful, all long limbs, a scattering of blond hair over his lightly muscled chest. Seeing everything he’d been dreaming of for so long lit a fire within Harry, and he couldn’t wait any longer. Malfoy seemed just as desperate as Harry as they fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, his hands all over Harry’s chest and back, his body pressing Harry’s against the bedsheets. Harry had never experienced the feeling of Malfoy’s weight on top of him, and he revelled in it, in the way their bodies lined up as their hips began to move together, the drag of Malfoy’s cock against his incredible, pleasure already building after so long without this feeling. 

Harry wanted so much; he wanted to taste Malfoy, to let his hands discover every inch of his skin, every peak and valley of his body, to sink into him again and again, to feel Malfoy inside him, but he couldn’t bear to pull away for long enough for any of that, too lost in Malfoy’s kisses and the motion of their bodies as they rocked into each other. Harry’s orgasm crested quickly, too powerful for him to stop, and he came with a gasp and a whispered _Draco_.

* * *

Afterwards, they lay sprawled across Harry’s bed, sweat drying on their skin, their gradually slowing breathing the only sound in the room. For the first time in a month, Harry’s brain had stopped spinning while he was lost in the feel of Malfoy’s body on his, but as the afterglow faded, Harry couldn’t stop his brain from whirring into action again. 

‘I can hear you thinking from over here,’ Malfoy said, his eyes still closed, his hair a mess.

‘Sorry,’ Harry said. ‘I—’

Harry tailed off, not knowing how to find the words to explain what he was feeling. How to explain the swirling guilt that still lingered, despite knowing that he was free to sleep with whoever he wanted now? And yet, he knew he wanted Malfoy, knew he wanted to keep doing this. Being back with Malfoy, after what had felt like a neverending time apart, had felt like suddenly being able to breathe again. But then Malfoy shifted position, and the light caught on the ring on his left hand, and Harry remembered that he might be single now, but Malfoy wasn’t. 

‘Potter.’ At Malfoy’s quiet word, Harry looked away from his hand to see that Malfoy had opened his eyes and was watching Harry, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

‘Sorry,’ Harry repeated. ‘I forgot about—’ he broke off, gesturing to Malfoy’s hand. 

‘That’s part of why I came here,’ Malfoy said. ‘I needed to explain—Astoria and I, we have an agreement, I suppose you could call it.’

Harry nodded, but stayed silent despite all the questions he already had, letting Malfoy talk. 

‘After the war,’ Malfoy began after taking a deep breath, ‘I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had so much to unlearn, so much to come to terms with. Pansy and Blaise left the country, my parents fled to France, and I was all alone. Astoria saved me, in a lot of ways. She was my only friend for a long time, while I worked to become a better person, although believe me, I know I’ll never be able to make up for what I was a part of. But nevertheless, she supported me through it all.’

They’d rolled over to face each other now, bodies curling in to each other, but there was still a gap between them. It felt wrong to touch Malfoy as he talked about his wife, even though they’d already done so much worse. 

‘I’d grown up hearing about how important it was for me to marry, to find a nice pure-blood witch and settle down, and although it was never explicitly discussed, I knew my father wouldn’t approve of me being with a man. So when Astoria and I grew close, it just seemed… sensible.’

Malfoy paused, his eyes intent as he looked at Harry. 

‘She knew, of course, where my interests lay, and not too long after we got married she proposed our arrangement. That we could see other people outside of the marriage. It was just as much for her as for me—Astoria’s far more interested in women than I’ve ever been. So, we were happy. I got to live with my best friend, and support her, while we both discreetly saw other people.’

‘You _were_ happy?’ Harry hadn’t missed Malfoy’s use of the past tense. 

‘We were. But then—,’ Malfoy paused, before continuing, ‘but then I slept with you, and then I did it again, and again, and that changed everything. We’d always said we’d continue with our arrangement until it didn’t work anymore, and several weeks ago Astoria sat me down and said it wasn’t working anymore, that she couldn’t be married to me while I was in love with someone else.’

‘Are you?’ Harry said when his brain finally processed what Malfoy had just said. ‘In love with someone else, I mean?’

‘I think so, or at least could be,’ Malfoy said, his simple honesty taking Harry’s breath away. ‘Our divorce will be announced soon, once the legal arrangements are dealt with.’

‘I—I don’t know what to say.’

‘You don’t have to say anything,’ Malfoy said. ‘I know it’s a lot.’

‘It is,’ Harry said, chuckling weakly. ‘In a good way though, I think.’

‘Really?’ Malfoy’s eyes had lit up at Harry’s words, and his fingers twitched slightly, as though he wanted to reach out and close the distance between them. Steeling himself, Harry reached over and took Malfoy’s hand, entwining their fingers, the simple touch making his heart leap. 

‘It is a lot,’ Harry said slowly, thinking through what he wanted to say, trying to find the words to express the mix of emotions running through him. ‘Everything with Ginny is so new, and figuring out what my life looks like without her is a lot to process, and it’s only going to get worse now that the whole world knows, but—but if you can wait, if you can cope with all the attention and the shitshow that the _Prophet_ is going to be, then, I want to try this.’

Malfoy nodded at Harry’s words, his lips twitching up into a smile that made Harry’s stomach somersault. ‘I know it won’t be easy,’ Malfoy said, his tone sincere, ‘but I want to try too.’

Harry could only smile back at him in response, his thumb stroking the soft skin of Malfoy’s hand, unable to find the words to convey the mix of feelings running through him. There was excitement, to see where things with Malfoy could go, a slow simmering desire that their early coupling hadn’t fully sated, but there was guilt too, and sadness, tempering the happiness that he felt at the sight of Malfoy’s smile. He wanted this, wanted to try with Malfoy, but even though he had caused it, he was still grieving the end of his marriage, and the life he’d thought he was going to have.

His emotions must have shown on his face, because Malfoy’s smile faded and he unlinked their hands, before getting out of bed and slowly collecting his clothes from where they had been tossed on the floor. Harry stayed silent while Malfoy dressed, only getting out of bed and hurriedly pulling on a pair of jogging bottoms when Malfoy walked to the bedroom door.

‘You’re not ready,’ Malfoy said after a long moment of silence, and Harry knew Malfoy wasn’t referring to his half-dressed state. 

‘I am,’ Harry said reflexively, before pausing. ‘Well, I’m not, but I want to be.’ He waved his hands in a vague gesture. ‘I will be, one day. Can we just—I don’t know. Can we just take it slow? Like, maybe we could have dinner?’

‘All right,’ Malfoy nodded, ‘dinner then. Friday? Work pub nights have rather lost their appeal over the past few weeks,’ he added with a wry smile. 

‘Friday,’ Harry agreed with a smile as he followed Malfoy down the stairs.

They hesitated at the front door, looking at each other, Harry unsure what they were supposed to do now. He wanted to kiss Malfoy goodbye, wanted to ask him to stay, wanted to take him back upstairs, but he was frozen, lost as to what was appropriate for them now. To Harry’s relief, Malfoy took charge, stepping closer and kissing him lightly on the lips, before opening the door. 

‘See you on Friday, Harry,’ Malfoy said, and then he was gone, stepping out into the night. 

Harry watched him walk away, his heart full, anticipation for Friday already blooming. He didn’t know what this Friday with Malfoy would involve, only that it would be very different to the Fridays he’d come to cherish, but he couldn’t wait to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> Further info about dub-con and infidelity warnings: Harry is hit by a curse that requires him to have sex with Draco or die (they are both already attracted to each other). Harry and Draco are married to Ginny and Astoria respectively, and go on to have an affair without the knowledge of their wives.
> 
> \--
> 
> Remember to leave some love for the creator if you can! Come reblog this work and view others from this fest [HERE](https://hd-hurtfest.tumblr.com/) on the H/D Hurt!Fest tumblr page!


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